Wayne's Boys: 8 Days a Hostage
by KatHarkness-Katara
Summary: What happened to Tim during those 8 days in Family Ties when he was held captive by Cain?
1. Day 1

**8 Days a Hostage**

**Day 1**

Tim maintained perfect motionlessness and perfectly even breathing as he awoke. His shoulder throbbed; his eye ached. His hands were bound behind his back as he lay on a hard, shuddering floor – presumably a moving vehicle. Flashes of the last few minutes of consciousness flew through his head. Surprised in the science classroom. Seizing a burette and twisting it like his staff half extended. It smashing, not halting the fist flying at his face. Ducking, lunging for a cabinet full of small bottles of hydrochloric, sulphuric and nitric acid. His attempts at throwing them arrested by the knife sinking into his shoulder. Pulling it out, fingers tacky with his own blood. A kick in the stomach sending him flying into the wall.

Waking up.

The vehicle stopped. Tim continued shamming unconsciousness as rough arms grabbed his arms and heaved him upright. He felt himself being manhandled into the open air, and cracked open his unhurt eye a slit. He recognized his surroundings. They were in the warehouse district by the docks, and that was one of Wayne Shipping's warehouses. He couldn't immediately place himself, but it wouldn't be too hard to work out.

An arm snaked around his head from behind, and a hand clamped down over his mouth. "Stop pretending," a heavy voice breathed in his ear. "There's no point."

Realising the game was up, Tim went for the first thought that came into mind. He bit down on the hand.

The voice growled. "Behave yourself, or I will tear your teeth out. I won't tell you twice."

A knife, probably the same one that had stuck his shoulder, tickled the underside of his jaw. Reluctantly, Tim released the flesh between his teeth. The hand was removed completely, but the knife remained.

Tim opened his eyes fully – well, mostly. The battered orb, no doubt black and swollen, only opened halfway. Before him, holding a deadly weapon to his head, was his ambusher. David Cain.

"Be good, and I won't be forced to do anything permanent. Scream, and I'll be forced to cut your tongue out. Nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" Tim asked. "You're threatening to remove my tongue, and you're saying it's nothing personal?" He thought about it a moment longer. With the captive/captor relationship currently existing between them, it did sort of make sense. He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "Fair enough".

Cain's mouth tightened, not in anger but in suppressed amusement. He looked at the two peons holding the teen. "Bring him," he ordered, turning away and leading them into the warehouse.

The warehouse was dark. In the centre was a trapdoor flung open. Tim was pulled towards it, and dropped down.

Cain caught him, and pushed him into a seated position in a waiting chair. Another flunkie held Tim in place as Cain cuffed his ankles to the chair legs, then released his hands from behind his back, only to cuff them to the arms of the chair. Cain looked up at his underling, who left, closing the trapdoor behind him.

After a moment, a light flared into existence. "As I said, nothing personal," Cain said. "I just want my daughter back."

"My sister," Tim commented.

Cain shrugged. "You did wonders with my girl, but it's time for her to return home."

Tim stared at him for a moment. "Who can hear us?" he asked.

"No-one, until the hatch open," Cain answered. "You will be watched at all times."

"How many of your people know?" Tim asked frankly. It wasn't necessary to state that he meant the truth of their double lives; Cain knew who he was, and that Tim knew he knew.

Cain paused. "All but Lady Vic and Deadshot. These assassins all trained with Bruce when he was with us."

"How kind of you," Tim said sardonically.

"Enough," Cain decided. He picked up a camera, and focused it on Tim's face. A flash, and he moved on. The bloodied hole in his shoulder, another photo. "To keep your family moving," Cain explained. Then he grabbed Tim's right hand, and selected the little finger. He jerked it, and it snapped.

Tim shuddered as the pain flooded his system. "Nothing personal," he heard Cain repeat. Then he let his abused body give in, and shut down.


	2. Day 2

**8 Days a Hostage**

**Day 2**

Tim blinked awake as he felt a hand touching his wounded shoulder. He instinctively jerked away, as his mind caught up. He was still cuffed to a chair, and the man before him was dressed in the standard garb of a Shadows assassin. He had a first aid kit open.

"_I have been sent to bind your shoulder,_" he explained, in Shadow dialect Arabic. Tim quickly picked out the deeper meanings in each word. By being sent, he meant that he had been assigned to the task, and that he considered completing the task to be important, necessary and achievable. Binding referred to treating the injury; but not as an act of compassion so much as simply out of necessity.

Tim inclined his head, and twitched his shoulder forward, granting permission to touch it. He did not flinch as his shirt was opened and disinfectant stung the open wound, knowing it had to be done, and the treatment was more then he'd expected.

"_I had thought you would be stronger,_" the assassin commented as he worked. Stronger: tougher, more resilient, less likely to feel injury. Probably referring to passing out after having a finger broken.

"_I've been busy of late,_" Tim replied, implying an unusual state of urgency over a few days, and less care being taken. "_What time is it?_"

"_An hour past midnight,_" the assassin answered, sounding vaguely amused. Tim didn't bother answering. He _had_ needed to catch up on his sleep.

"_You knew B when he trained, I believe,_" he commented instead.

"_I did,_" the assassin acknowledged. "_He was very driven. Inexperienced when he arrived, he pushed himself further and harder than most would dare. He would have been brilliant, had he mastered his compassion and developed a killer instinct._"

"_He is brilliant,_" Tim disagreed, deliberately ignoring the inflections they both used to categorize the brilliance as being by their own standards.

"_I suppose he is,_" the assassin agreed, allowing it to be by Tim's standards. "_He was smitten with Lady Talia. We all found her…distantly above us, but he attracted her. I think it was his single-minded determination._"

"_He still loves her,_" Tim commented idly. "_But he does not believe they could achieve a union."_ The culture the League of Shadows lived by considered marriage to be a union between the two, as opposed to a public statement of commitment as the American culture considered it. A failed marriage would be considered a very serious error of judgement on both sides, meaning an acknowledged shared love would not be considered enough. Not even Damian's existence would be thought to be evidence of a true union.

"_A wise choice,"_ the assassin nodded. He finished binding the shoulder and closed Tim's shirt. Glancing down, the teen noticed something missing.

"_Where's my necklace?"_ he asked.

"_It was left for your people to find,_" the assassin stated matter-of-factly. He produced a water bottle and held it to Tim's lips.

"_What are your orders regarding my treatment?"_ Tim asked after swallowing the fluid.

"_Keep you whole and healthy, excepting whatever injuries Cain inflicts,_" came the answer. "_You are no use dead except as a reason for your people to destroy us utterly. B may not succeed in taking us all out if he tried, but we will not risk it. And we have no reason to. We will trade you for the One Who Is All. A simple business transaction. Nothing against you personally. You were just the most convenient._"

"Lucky me," Tim grumbled. The assassin produced a cheese sandwich, and the teen gratefully let him feed him.


	3. Day 3

**8 Days a Hostage**

**Day 3**

The assassin with primary responsibility for Tim's care was named Hassan. The man had become a near constant presence, staying in the small cell in the floor of the warehouse. Long hours of silence would often be filled by casual conversation. Hassan had shared some stories of Bruce's training, such as when a spar on a frozen lake had been ended prematurely when Bruce strayed onto thin ice. Bruce still had difficulties minding his surroundings when he was allowed to become too single-minded. In response, Tim had told some stories of the cases they'd solved.

"So when we bust into that place, we found a whole bunch of common thugs pretending to be aristocrats at a ball," Tim narrated. "And the boss had this sort of mirrored facemask – kinda like Hood's helmet, only more fitted and more mirrored. Called himself Façade, pretentious moron. Turned out he was the footman from the Falcon club. Got madly jealous at all the wealth on display."

"Did you kill him for his presumption?" Hassan asked mildly.

"No, but we did pummel him, and then he was dragged off to Arkham," Tim answered, shrugging his whole shoulder.

"Do not most residents of the asylum break out at one time or another?" Hassan asked, indicating he was pointing out the self-evident to a simpleton.

"Yeah, I know," Tim sighing. "But it's not our place to start carrying out summary executions."

"You do not think those madmen deserve death?"

"On the contrary, I'm sure at least half a dozen inmates have more than forfeited the protection of the law, but it's not our job to decide who deserves death. Our job is to bring in the criminals for the courts to deal with. Everyone deserves a trial before their peers."

"Except if they are mentally incapable," Hassan countered. "Then they are spared."

"That is the law," Tim agreed. "Whether we agree or not, that is the law."

"But you killed Captain Boomerang," Hassan reminded him.

Tim sagged. "Yes, I did," he agreed. "There was an investigation, and it was decided that finding him standing over my father's freshly killed corpse with weapons drawn presented sufficient cause for taking lethal action in self-defence. I will never know for sure if he would have killed me, but I will always regret not feeling guilty for my actions."

There was silence for time. Hassan stared at his prisoner, and Tim shifted in his seat, hours of stillness taking their toll. He now had three fractured fingers, but had managed to get the pain under control. He just really needed to stretch his muscles. Not that that was likely any time soon.

"What if the law said that an incurably mad man can be put to death if he proves too dangerous to spare?" Hassan said abruptly.

Tim blinked. That would be the death of the Joker, Two-Face, Bane, Killer Croc, Jane Doe, who knew how many Arkhamites. But with one major ethical drawback. "I can see problems with determining incurable insanity, but…I think we would keep out of that debate, then business as usual whichever way it goes," he surmised.

"You would not support it?" Hassan asked, surprised.

"Of course we would. But that doesn't mean it would be right." Tim leaned back in his chair as best he could. "It would be vengeance, but would it be justice? Best we stay out if it."

Hassan shook his head bemusedly. "Well, while _your_ job is saving lives, mine is taking them. Want to give be a list?"

Tim stared at him, until a smirk started to appear on Hassan's face. The quiet of the cell was soon filled with poorly-stifled giggles.


	4. Day 4

**8 Days a Hostage**

**Day 4**

"I spy with my little eye," Tim said solemnly. "Something beginning with…G."

Hassan looked around. "Gloom."

"No."

"Genou."

"No."

"Garganta."

"No."

Hassan gave another word in a language Tim didn't recognise. "What's that?" he asked.

"Welsh for knee."

"What is it with you and body parts?" Tim asked.

The trapdoor in the ceiling of Tim's little cell opened and Cain dropped down. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Multilingual I Spy," Tim informed him. "We ran out of things to spy, so now we're going through languages."

"Perhaps we should bring some random objects down here," Hassan suggested.

"We'd need more light," Tim mused.

"We have lamps," Hassan offered.

"Great. Then we can spy lamp, and light, and-"

"Please, enough," Cain interjected. "What is going on with your little clan?"

Tim stared at him. "I've been stuck down here for four days," he answered. "How should I know?"

"Bruce Wayne is not in Gotham," Cain informed him. "But Batman has been sighted. Nightwing has been acting erratically and Red Hood hasn't been seen very often. What are they doing?"

"Bruce is in Vegas tracking Joker," Tim shrugged with one shoulder.

"Yes, I know that," Cain snapped. "I had Vic suggest to Harley that if Joker respected her he'd marry her, and Vegas was a good place for it. But Bruce was meant to return after I took you."

"And let Joker go? I'd kick him in the face if he did that. There's enough of us still here to at least stay at a stand-off until Bruce is finished." Tim finished his diatribe and thought of something. "Although it could be that he's gone incommunicado again."

"And here in Gotham?" Cain demanded.

"Sounds like Dick is being Batman and Jason's helping to cover Nightwing's absence."

"Why bother?" Hassan asked curiously.

"We're trying to keep down the circumstantial evidence these days. Just an extra precaution."

"Fine," Cain interrupted. "Now hold still."

He reached for Tim's hand.


	5. Day 5

**8 Days a Hostage**

**Day 5**

Tim was dozing when a bright light filled his cell. The silent assassin who'd filled in for Hassan for some hours was leaving, allowing Hassan to take over again. He was carrying a lamp, a plastic bag and a paper bag marked with the golden arches of McDonalds.

"I thought I might try your American fast food," Hassan said. "I suppose you're familiar with it?"

"Somewhat, but it's not the most nutritious, so we prefer Alfred's cooking. But we get through a fair bit in Titans Tower down in 'Frisco," Tim said. "What have you got?"

"Coffee, cheeseburgers, fries, something called 'McNuggets', and some ice-creams," Hassan said, unpacking the paper bag.

"Coffee first," Tim said, almost pleading. Coffee was quite important in the family; given the sheer workload of their average day, they needed the stimulants.

Hassan pushed a straw into the cup and placed it into his uninjured hand. Tim took a deep draught and sighed.

"That's good," he murmured. "What else have you got?"

"Some games," Hassan shrugged. "A card game called Happy Families."

"We need more than two players for that one," Tim mumbled. "What else?"

"Chess, Risk and Mouse Trap," Hassan replied. "You can't play Operation, and I think Scrabble is asking for trouble."

Tim snickered. "Got that one right."

* * *

"So, I turn the crank, which turns the gears, which knocks the paddle, which topples the bucket, which drops the ball, which rolls down the stairs, into the gutter, then helps the hand, which hits the other ball, which drops into the bath, and falls on the seesaw, which throws the diver, who jumps into the tub, which jolts the cage, which…gets stuck halfway down."

"Dammit! Hassan, please knock the cage down."

"Not with my mouse underneath it I won't."

"We spent half an hour building that contraption, and now it won't work," Tim complained.

"Stop complaining," Hassan sighed.

* * *

"Battles do not work like that!"

"Stop complaining."

"Random chance does not play THAT much of a role in real battle!"

"Stop complaining."

"They do not go on the roll of a die!"

"Stop complaining."

"And stop saying stop complaining!"

"YOU said it whenever I moan about Mouse Trap."

Hassan glared at Tim. "Risk is a stupid game," he announced.

Tim looked down at the scattered game pieces. "We have a chess set," he said slowly.

"So?"

"We need to find some way of matching troops to chess pieces," he mused. "And if we introduce rules about army commanders, then we can have chess games with varying numbers of pieces for the battles."

"A game could take forever," Hassan frowned. Then he shrugged. "What did you have in mind?"


	6. Day 6

**8 Days a Hostage**

**Day 6**

Tim looked up at Deadshot. "Do you have…Mr Bun the Baker?"

The master assassin shot him a dirty look. "Not at home," he declared.

"He's lying," Hassan said shortly, looking over his own cards. "He does have Mr Bun."

Deadshot swore and threw the card at Tim. It hit his face and dropped into his lap. With only three fingers and two thumbs functional, and a limited field of movement, he struggled to pick it up. "Hassan, do you have Miss Plod the policeman's daughter?"

"Not at home," the Shadow smirked.

"He's lying," Deadshot jumped in.

Tim and Hassan both glared at him. "Stop trying to cheat," Tim admonished. "Hassan, your go."

"Deadshot, do you have Miss Plod the policeman's daughter?" Hassan asked.

Deadshot growled, and threw another card across the cell. "Why the hell do you two need me?" he demanded.

"Risk is a stupid game," Tim commented. "And we needed a third for diplomacy."

"How is this diplomacy?!"

"We're using chess for battles, Mouse Trap for espionage or assassination, and Happy Families for diplomacy," Hassan elaborates. "If I win, the treaty goes in my favour. If Tim wins, it goes in his favour. If you win, neither of us get an advantage from the treaty."

"I'm just making up numbers for your stupid Risk game?" Deadshot yelled. "What is it with you two and board games?"

"We ran out of words for I Spy," Tim deadpanned.

Deadshot flung down the cards and pulled himself out through the hatch. Tim frowned at Hassan. "You think Lady Vic would like to play?"

"Probably not," Hassan shrugged. He went over and closed the hatch. "Truth be told, I'm having doubts over this mission."

"How so?" Tim asked.

"We had been told that you Bats are fools, weak and soft," Hassan murmured. "We were told that your success was due to you being not worth destroying. Is that what Bruce told you of us?"

Tim thought about it. "No, not really," he replied. "He's told us how any lingering respect for Ra's turned to hate, and love for Talia swamped by regret that it wouldn't work. He never really spoke about you more normal members. I don't think he hates you, just regrets what you do. He does respect your abilities."

"Hmm," Hassan mused. "You just want to make a better world. We do, too. We excise the rot and make sure the wholesome flourishes."

"But when you're excising the rot, how can you be sure you don't become the rot?" Tim asked softly. "You kill a murderer – but then you're a murderer. If you don't consciously keep yourselves above their level, you don't know when you've sunk to it."

"If you really were as weak and foolish as we were told, the One Who Is All would not be with you," Hassan mused. "Maybe I should take leave of the Shadows for a time, and see what we really have done where we've…excised rot."

"Then go now," Tim said softly. "It's only a matter of time before Bruce comes for me, and it's better you're gone."

"You will be alright?" Hassan asked. "Cain may well blame you."

"Excellent," Tim smirked. "If he's angry, he'll do something stupid, then I might get home sooner."


	7. Day 7

**8 Days a Hostage**

**Day 7**

Tim was in pain. His fingers sent sharp, shooting pains through him, his shoulder was a dull ache, his eye felt tender, his legs were full of pins and needles and his stomach was constantly complaining at the erratic feeding schedule. That hadn't changed much. Pushing aside pain was easy. It was just a matter of wrapping it up in force of will and suppressing it. He smirked.

"There was this one time," he said casually. "Batman was after Two Face. Two Face dropped a building on him and Nightwing, then Robin pulled them out, and they caught up with Two Face, took him out and hauled his miserable behind back to Arkham."

Tim's current keeper twitched, but ignored him.

"Then there was a time when Ivy was making mischief," Tim continued. "Batman burned her plants to ash, took her our and hauled her miserable behind back to Arkham. Actually, that one happened a couple of times; she doesn't learn too well."

The assassin ground his teeth, but said nothing.

"Then there was this time-"

"WIIL. YOU. SHUT. UP?!" Deadshot bellowed.

Tim smirked again. "Just letting you know, Batman is going to win and haul your miserable behind back to Arkham. Won't that be fun?"

"He won't win this time," Deadshot hissed.

"Oh?" Tim made a gamble, but was pretty sure it would pay off. "What do you think happened to Hassan?"

Deadshot blanched; Tim had been right. Hassan had vanished and it wasn't exactly clear why. The smirk deepened.

A hand clenched around his throat and lifted him bodily, chair and all, slamming him into the wall. "You can't win forever," Deadshot snarled. "And I swear I will be the one to make you lot lose."

The trapdoor opened and Cain dropped down. "Drop him," he ordered coldly. "Get out."

The chair teetered as it landed, and Dick's acrobatic training kicked in as Tim shifted his weight so it righted itself. Deadshot brushed past Cain hauled himself out of the bunker.

Cain glared as the hatch slammed closed. "You're starting to become too much bother to keep," he said menacingly, switching to Arabic.

Tim shrugged his un-pierced shoulder. "Was I meant to make it easy on you?"

"I could kill you right now and be done with it," Cain replied casually.

"If you want to be the one to explain that to my sister," Tim said equally casually. "She may just try to kill you for that. No doubt she'd regret it, but it's a little too late for you by then, hmm?"

Cain sighed. "You're forcing my hand here."

Tim grinned viciously. "Bring it on."


	8. Day 8

**8 Days a Hostage**

**Day 8**

Tim hurt. Suppressing the pain was getting harder. Cain, in his fury, was devastating.

"What did you say?" he demanded as soon as the camera was off. "What did you tell them?"

"I told Cass not to surrender," Tim answered sharply, knowing he was misunderstanding Cain. "I told her my life wasn't worth that of those people you'd have her murder."

"That last bit!" Cain hissed. "What did you _say_?!"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Tim smirked, knowing he was being infuriating.

"Tell me or you will wish you had," Cain said darkly.

Tim merely smirked, but inside he was starting to worry. He'd told them where to find him, but they wouldn't come for him until sundown at the earliest. And it would be more prudent for his family to conduct a stakeout for some days first. But he couldn't guarantee that he could out no matter what Cain did to him.

A sharp pinch to a nerve drove him into spasms of pain. Gasping, he glared at his tormentor. "I really don't feel like telling you," he said simply.

Another pinch, this one to the nerve in his elbow that made his arm jerk in pain. "I can give you more of that, if you don't tell me," Cain threatened.

"It's just pain," Tim spluttered. "Too much more, I pass out; you can't make me talk."

Cain's hands grabbed his arm, one hand pulling the elbow the wrong way. "You've plenty of bones for me to break," he growled.

"And again, I pass out," Tim pointed out. "It won't work."

Cain snarled, and stomped towards the exit. He pulled himself up, sending in another assassin while he went off somewhere.

Tim concentrated on breathing deeply. If he could put himself in a meditative trance, he'd be safe for a little longer. But he hadn't had as much practise as he'd have liked. He released the suppressed pain and let it wash over him. Sinking further from consciousness, he accepted the pain and let it float over him. Instead of putting the pain away deep in his mind, he pushed himself down into the depths of his mind, letting the channel to the surface consciousness slide shut behind him. Deeper, calmer, quieter-

Agony. Tim gasped, feeling his back arch as he sprang back to full consciousness to see Cain standing over him, having broken the partial trance with another nerve pinch.

"Bruce will have trained you to resist this," Cain said, shaking a jar of either poison or drug. Quite likely truth serum. Damn.

"So I'll just have to flood you system with it," Cain continued. Double damn.

'_Bruce, please…come quickly…_'


End file.
